


Short Hannigram & HEU Snippets

by justlikeyouimagined



Category: Adam (2009), Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Extended Universe - Fandom, Polar (2019), The Big C (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Angst, BDSM, Blood, Cock Cages, Cock Warming, Come Marking, Come Swallowing, Comfort, Cuckolding, Desperation Play, Dirty Talk, Discipline, Dom/sub, Feeding, Frottage, Gags, Hand Jobs, M/M, Necrophilia, Necrophilia thoughts, Overstimulation, Rough Oral Sex, Rutting, Sick Character, Starvation, Watersports, enema (nondescript), implied infidelity, nonconsensual drugging, physical violence, unconventional therapy, weekend protcol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:42:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 11,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28905063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justlikeyouimagined/pseuds/justlikeyouimagined
Summary: A collection of Hannigram & HEU twitter drabbles and short stories <1000 wordsFull chapter list with tags in notes of Ch 1. Most recent 10 posts:Ch 8: Bad dreams. Hannigram. Tags: physical violence, unconventional therapy. Rating: MatureCh 9: BDSM 1. Hannigram. Tags: BDSM, blood, alcohol. Rating: ExplicitCh 10: Cuckolding. Kaisergram and Nigel. Tags: cuckolding, dirty talkCh 11: D/s control. Kaisergram set in Hannibal tl. Tags: D/s, implied infidelity (w/ Molly)Ch 12: Instant connections. Lee Fallon & Duncan Vizla. Tags: frottage, anal sex, overstimulation.Ch 13: Soft D/s. PolarSpace (Duncan/Adam Raki). Tags: rutting, soft D/sCh 14: Soon. Hannigram. Tags: None.Ch 15. Necro devotion. Hannigram. Tags: NecrophiliaCh 16. Scars. Hannigram. Tags: Hand jobs, angstCh 17. D/s 2. Hannigram. Tags: D/s, weekend protocol, enema (nondescript), anal sex, desperation play (piss), anal fingering, cock cages, anal plug
Relationships: Adam Raki/Duncan Vizla | Black Kaiser, Lee Fallon/Duncan Vizla | Black Kaiser, Will Graham/Duncan Vizla | Black Kaiser, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 38
Kudos: 138





	1. D/s 1. Hannigram

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full chapter descriptions:  
> Ch 1: D/s 1. Hannigram. Tags: D/s, rough oral sex, come swallowing  
> Ch 2: Necrophilic Thoughts. Hannigram. Tags: necrophilia thoughts  
> Ch 3: S3E1 Alternate. Hannigram and Antony. Tags: necrophilia thoughts, murder  
> Ch 4: Inflatable anal plug. Hannigram. Tags: anal plug, gags, come marking  
> Ch 5: Starvation and discipline. Hannigram. Tags: starvation, cock warming, discipline, feeding, watersports  
> Ch 6: First time misunderstandings. Hannigram Tags: none really. Rating: Teen  
> Ch 7: Will has a fever. Hannigram. Tags: sick fic, nonconsensual drugging, comfort. Rating: Mature.  
> Ch 8: Bad dreams. Hannigram. Tags: physical violence, unconventional therapy. Rating: Mature  
> Ch 9: BDSM 1. Hannigram. Tags: BDSM, blood, alcohol. Rating: Explicit  
> Ch 10: Cuckolding. Kaisergram and Nigel. Tags: cuckolding, dirty talk  
> Ch 11: D/s control. Kaisergram set in Hannibal tl. Tags: D/s, implied infidelity (w/ Molly)  
> Ch 12: Instant connections. Lee Fallon & Duncan Vizla. Tags: frottage, anal sex, overstimulation.  
> Ch 13: Soft D/s. PolarSpace (Duncan/Adam Raki). Tags: rutting, soft D/s  
> Ch 14: Soon. Hannigram. Tags: none  
> Ch 15. Necro devotion. Hannigram. Tags: Necrophilia  
> Ch 16. Scars. Hannigram. Tags: hanjobs, angst  
> Ch 17. D/s 2. Hannigram. Tags: D/s, weekend protocol, enema (nondescript), anal sex, desperation play (piss), anal fingering, cock cages, anal plug

His world is dark. Silent. His legs tremble from holding the position. He feels a bead of sweat accumulate and start its lazy trickle down his spine. Will sits before him, he thinks, watching, hopefully admiring. With his toes tucked under, the arches of his feet burn, almost enough to distract him from the way the slightest shift of position digs the grains of rice deeper into his knees. He tries to steady his breathing, tries to keep his body still as a statue, waiting. Time accelerates the pain, though he slowly begins to feel himself shifting away from his body. His mind slows to a stop. In time, all that is left to him is the steady rhythm of his heart, and the weight of Will’s silent reverence. 

Beyond the blindfold, Will stands and quietly closes the distance between them. He removes the heavy headphones first, then the spit-soaked gag from inside his mouth. He leaves the blindfold on. 

Hannibal’s jaw aches but he keeps his mouth wide, just the way Will likes him. Will sweeps a stray hair behind his ear, his touch feather light. His fingers trace the shape of Hannibal’s ear, then down and along the muscle along his neck. Hannibal’s cock jumps at the attention, his breath stutters, but otherwise he stays as still as before. 

“You’re beautiful, Hannibal.” Will says, then touches his finger softly to his bottom lip. 

Hannibal begins to lean into his touch, but the crunch of rice under his knees shoots pain through his body and he stops himself immediately. Will chuckles to himself, then slaps Hannibal hard enough that he almost loses balance. Just enough to make the grains dig in, the pain like razors against his skin. 

Hannibal hears Will’s footsteps move slowly around him, and he braces himself for a push that never comes. Then: the sound of Will’s buckle, the smooth slide of a zipper coming undone. Hannibal’s mouth waters, and drool spills over his lip and drops onto his knees. He keeps his mouth open. The ache between his legs intensifies as he waits for Will’s next move. 

He needn’t wait long. Will completes the slow circle and stops just before him. “Wider,” he commands. Hannibal immediately obeys. 

The first taste upon his tongue pulls a moan from deep within his chest. His eyes scrunch up tight when he feels Will’s hand forcefully grab the back of his head and push him onto his cock. He relishes the way Will fills his mouth, bumping up against his throat. So forceful, so demanding. It shifts his center of gravity and he lets out a small noise of surprise as the pain in his knees explodes. 

There’s no reprieve for him. Will grabs him tightly and begins to fuck his throat. Hannibal groans roughly around Will’s cock, resisting the overwhelming urge to suck, instead keeping his throat open for Will to use. Saliva spills steadily from his open mouth, wetting the front of Will’s pants when he holds him down until his body arches and jolts with the need to draw breath.   
Hannibal stops trying to keep himself still and embraces the pain, his own pleasure blooming strong under the hurt. 

It doesn’t take long. Will’s fingers grip harder in his hair and pull him back. Hannibal has time to take in a single gasping breath before Will readjusts and shoves the head of his cock past his teeth. Will lets out a guttural groan as he coats Hannibal’s tongue. 

“Perfect.”

Hannibal doesn’t move. He has to cup his tongue like a bowl in his mouth to prevent it from spilling. Will has no tolerance for mess. His mouth is still hot, but the come grows cool against all the same.

“Drink me down,” Will finally says, smoothing his hand lovingly over Hannibal’s cheek. 

Hannibal lets the cool wetness slip down his throat. He licks his lips and presses his thighs together, his cock throbbing wildly now with the idea that Will has gained satisfaction from using him like a fleshlight. He won’t come tonight, he knows, and takes his pleasure from the denial. 

Will slips his blindfold off, then offers him a hand to come to standing. The rice grains hit the ground like the pitter patter of rain; Will leans down to brush the ones that have dug grooves into his skin and refuse to fall. Hannibal takes this moment to breath, deeply, grounding himself. 

Will looks down at his heavy cock, then reaches down to pinch his foreskin, watching with great satisfaction as Hannibal flinches but doesn’t turn his hips away. 

“So good for me. So fucking fantastic. Come here.” 

He pulls Hannibal in towards him, crushing their lips together in a smacking kiss. 

Hannibal is floating, at once soaring above his body while still awash with every twitch of physical sensation. He’d been good, exceptionally so, he thinks, and smiles through his panting breaths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted 18/01/2021 to @trikemily


	2. Necophilia Thoughts. Hannigram

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: I'm re-organizing and have posted this here as well: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29587173/chapters/72722019  
> This chapter may be removed shortly. 
> 
> Tags: necrophilia thoughts

Will thinks about them most often in the thick of the night. When their curtains are pulled not quite shut, and the light from the streetlamp lays itself dimly over Hannibal. In sleep, his breaths come so slowly that Will can forgive the shallow rise and fall of Hannibal's chest. He'd feel how warm he is, so he doesn't dare touch. Instead, he imagines. Instead, his fingers skim over the shell of Hannibal's supine body, appreciating how fresh the body still is. He could lace his fingers through theirs and the suppleness would still be there, a body pliable and entirely his own. He worships them, in the near darkness of their bedroom, the way few would have experienced in life. He'd trace the story of their lives with his tongue, take in each scar and pay homage to the pain they no longer have to feel. He'd provide them absolution, he promises in a whisper that chokes in his throat. Along with the longing, there's an emptiness in him, a shame that comes from indulging in the fantasy. Still, when he starts he cannot help to stop himself. On nights like this, the hours slip by like seconds, and the emotions surge until they overwhelm. When Hannibal rouses at dawn, he often finds Will in tears. He wraps his warm, living body around Will, shattering the illusion. It makes the tears come harder. 

Hannibal thinks it's the nightmares. Will doesn't let him believe otherwise. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted 19/01/2021 to @trikemily


	3. S3E1 Alternate. Hannigram and Antony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: I'm re-organizing and have posted this here as well: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29587173/chapters/72722019  
> This chapter may be removed shortly. 
> 
> Tags: necrophilia thoughts, murder

Will’s eyes follow Antony’s creeping form. A slick trail of blood divides the room in two, inky in the dimming light. 

“Observe or participate?” Hannibal asks, from the other side of the dividing line.

Will doesn’t hear him beyond the rush of blood behind his ears. He watches Antony’s slow, laborious progression towards the unlocked door. He won’t make it past their doorstep, he knows. Hannibal will break his neck before his hands touch the carved wood. 

The idea thrills him. 

He’ll have hours then, before the body cools, before the meat’s too old to harvest. He thinks about the suppleness that will be left in his skin, how beautifully he’ll bend and bruise under his hand. If he’s careful, he might even be able to wrap Antony around himself and doze, before he starts again. His stomach churns in anticipation.

Hannibal tucks the silk pocket square roughly back into his breast pocket. He steps over Antony’s body and onto Will’s side of the room. 

Will drags his eyes away from Antony, blinking twice in rapid succession. The lurid daydreams that had taken up space in his head flitter away as his attention shifts to Hannibal.

“What?” 

Hannibal looks up at him expectantly. “Tonight. Will I be observing, or participating?” 

Will falters before the corners of Will’s lips curl up into a trepid smile. He reaches out for Hannibal’s lapel and pulls him forward cautiously, as though he doesn’t quite believe he deserves what he is taking. The air trapped between them warms with their breath. He leans in and nips gently at the edge of Hannibal’s bottom lip, then whimpers when Hannibal pulls him closer and deepens the kiss. 

When they separate, Antony is struggling mightily to lift himself and reach the door’s brass knob.

Will’s voice is heavy with emotion. “You’ve never asked to join me before.”

Hannibal’s eyes stay locked on the severe bow of Will’s lips, uncaring that the door has creaked open into the building’s shared hallway. His attention is, and always has been, meant for one man. He deserves more than a silent witness, and who is Hannibal to deny Will anything?

“He said he wanted a party.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted 20/01/2021 to @trikemily


	4. Inflatable anal plug. Hannigram.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: anal plug, gags, come marking

“Ready?” Hannibal asks, holding the black bulb in his hand. Before him, Will keeps his knees tucked under his chest, face resting on the cool slide of the sheets. He nods, because he cannot speak, the oversized O-ring gag holding his mouth open in an uncomfortable scream. 

The first squeeze of the bulb is fast, easy, though Will still blinks rapidly in surprise for how aware he is of the plug’s shift in size. 

Hannibal leans forward to stroke Will’s back with his free hand. The next time, he squeezes the bulb more slowly, watching his boy’s face as the plug inside him inflates again to over twice its original girth. Will tries not to let his saliva pool on the silk below him, but it’s a fruitless endeavor, one that Hannibal savors as he watches the way his tongue moves helpless inside his mouth. 

They sit like this for a moment, long enough for Will’s erection to drip down onto his thighs. He wants more, but doesn’t know how to ask for it. Carefully, he wiggles his ass in the air, as if signalling Hannibal’s attention. 

Immediately, Hannibal presses the quick release and the bulb deflates. 

Hannibal’s voice is quiet but commanding: “Be still.”

Will doesn’t move a muscle. 

It takes most of his resolve not to jump when he feels the plug pulse not once, not twice, but three times in sharp succession. He groans, loudly, at the feeling of fullness, and tries to remember how wide the plug had become when Hannibal had shown him earlier that evening.

Hannibal’s rubs small circles over Will’s back, along his spine, over his shoulder blades. “You’re taking it beautifully,” he encourages, then squeezes the bulb slowly once more. 

Without warning, he squeezes it again. Will stifles a yell, rocks forwards, trying to get away from the sensation that he cannot run from. 

Hannibal hadn’t shown him the size of five pumps, but he remembers just how thin the silicone of the plug had become from the expansion of just four. He imagines it inside him now, easily the size of Hannibal’s fist, pressing firmly against his prostate. 

Another dribble of precome creates a mess between his thighs. 

As he adjusts, Hannibal’s hands on him grow fevered; he whispers praise without stop, calling him his good boy, his beautiful pet. Will tries to bear it, he does, but he’s never felt as full as he does now. He cannot help but whimper openly. 

“Spread your legs for me, sweet,” Hannibal whispers, his lips inches away from the base of the plug.

Will hesitates a moment, moves gingerly to avoid knocking what’s inside him. He needn’t be so careful, but he feels stretched practically to bursting. 

Hannibal wraps his hand around Will’s ache, his movements determined, his pace brutal. It takes only a moment before Will comes loudly, his body spasming. He hears Hannibal unzip behind him, and it’s only another moment before he’s coated in his release. 

It takes several seconds for the plug to deflate. When Hannibal pulls it out, Will feels used and vacant and satisfied beyond belief. 

Hannibal smiles at him, the fine skin about his eyes crinkling in pleasure. “Next time we’ll see you take six.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted 21/01/2021 to @trikemily


	5. Starvation and discipline. Hannigram.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: starvation, cock warming, discipline, feeding, watersports

Above him, the old floorboards creak as Hannibal moves from the kitchen’s various stations. His stomach doesn’t growl at the reminder of food; it’s been too long for that. Still, he fantasizes about what Hannibal might be preparing for him, what he might be willing to share. If he’s good enough tonight. 

Will falls into a restless doze, for how long he cannot say. He finds he doesn’t have the energy he once had, not in his state. Still, he perks up at the sound of the basement stairs protesting Hannibal’s steps as he descends. Quickly, he shuffles to present himself on all fours like he’s been trained. The cold of the basement’s cement foundation seeps through the threadbare blanket upon which he sleeps. His knees ache. He tilts his head to listen more carefully, unable to see anything through his blindfold. He doesn’t dare to rip it off. 

The smell is indescribable: layered and hearty yet not too complex. A roast of some sort. Something that drips juices when the knife slices through. Will opens his mouth and lets the saliva that’s pooled in his mouth tip over his lips and slide down his chin. Hannibal likes that, he’s found. 

A pause before the dining chair scrapes against the floor as Hannibal sits; the noise is startling loud and makes Will flinch. Hannibal places the plate down, lines up the cutlery so his place setting is just so. It’s only after that Will hears the familiar shifting and unzip of his trousers. It’s his cue to approach. 

Hannibal guides him with his voice as he navigates the short distance on his hands and knees. He ducks carefully under the unseen table, then stops abruptly when his face hits against the edge of the chair. It takes some doing without any help, but soon Will’s mouth is wrapped around Hannibal’s flaccid cock, his head resting softly against his thigh.

Once settled, he doesn’t dare move an inch. He drools from the scent of the meal, stronger directly underneath it, but he lets it cover his chin and neck, drip down onto his chest. He isn’t allowed to swallow unless...

Hannibal doesn’t give him any warning: suddenly his mouth is flooded with warm acrid liquid and he works this throat quickly not to spill a drop. He lets out a low, satisfied noise; it’s been so long he’s forgotten how thirsty he had become. He’s breathing hard through his nose when the gush eventually slows to a dribble, then stops altogether. His stomach immediately begins to gurgle and churn uncomfortably. Still, Will doesn’t move.

The meal lasts for what feels like hours until he finally hears Hannibal gently put down his cutlery. His heart beats frantically in his chest. Has he been good enough, tonight?

A hand comes down to tangle in his curls, scritching him behind the ear as though he were a dog. Eagerly, Will waits. 

Hannibal pulls himself out of Will’s messy mouth, pushing his chair away to make room between them. Will shifts back to all fours, waiting, waiting.

He smells it before it even reaches his lips, his mouth shooting open and his tongue sticking out so that Hannibal might deliver his reward directly. He clamps his mouth closed so quickly over the meat that he traps Hannibal’s fingers there, so nervous is he that Hannibal might change his mind and pull the piece away. He knows he should savor it, but he’s so hungry he barely chews before swallowing it down. 

Immediately, he opens his mouth again, eager for the next bite.

Hannibal’s tsk is sharp and painful to his ears. “That’s enough for now.” 

The words feel like a sucker punch to his gut. Still, he doesn’t disobey, but instead nods once and carefully maneuvers himself out from under the table and back to his blanket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted in part 22/01/2021 to @trikemily


	6. First time misunderstandings. Hannigram

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> // soft Hannigram: Will gets the wrong impression after their first time //

As soon as he collapses on the bed, the moment shatters. He’s aware of his body like he’s never been before. His gasping breathing feels like a betrayal to the otherwise peaceful silence of Hannibal’s home. He holds his breath and tries to steal his heart’s beating lest it burst from his chest. A frosty cold clutches at his chest: he doesn’t belong here. 

He needs to leave. Immediately. 

He rolls over and slips out of bed, beginning to search for his clothes. 

Hannibal sits up in bed, a laziness in his movements that speaks to the bone-deep satisfaction that still lingers there. In his panic, Will sees none of it. He finds his boxers and quickly slides them on. 

“You have somewhere to be?” 

Will stops dead, as though he might escape Hannibal’s attention if he stays perfectly still. It’s only after several seconds have ticked by that he gives up the act and tries to translate his humiliation into a believable excuse. 

“The dogs,” he says, moving again to find his slacks. “They -”

“- Will be just fine until morning.” Hannibal finishes for him, while leaning to pick up his watch from the bedside table. “It’s nearly 4 am, Will. You’re giving the impression you intend to go.”

Will finds his slacks and puts them on, tripping over one leg in his hurry. He can’t consider what Hannibal is saying when every part of his body is screaming at him to go. Any moment now, he thinks, Hannibal will realize what a mistake this was and want him out. He intends to be gone before that happens.

“Yeah, I-” Will starts, then stops himself and pauses to take in a long shaky breath. “I’m sorry, I never should have - I mean, I know you didn’t mean…” He trails off this time, unable to say what inside he already knows.

Hannibal’s brow furrows slightly, then he’s setting aside the blankets and coming to stand before him. He wears his nakedness like a fine suit. He reaches a hand out and touches his fingers gently to Will’s bare chest. 

“I absolutely did mean.”

The contact shocks him. He looks at Hannibal watching him and feels agonizingly exposed. His mind is racing. The jumble of thoughts are self deprecating and disbelieving.

“No, I get it. You don’t have to - This was a mistake. Just let me find my things and I’ll go.”

Hannibal’s voice is firm. Almost commanding. “I don’t want you to go. I want you back in bed.”

Will lets out an unbelieving huff before the words register in his spinning mind. Realization dawns late. He searches Hannibal's face for any hint of a lie. 

His voice is barely a whisper. “You don’t regret what we just did?”

Hannibal’s lips draw up in a slow smile. Moving slowly, he lets his hand on Will’s chest slip slowly down, his fingers hooking at the button of his pants. “I only regret giving you the impression that this wasn’t exactly what I wanted.”

Will swallows. His heart still beats at a rabbit’s pace, but slowly the swirl of his mind begins to settle. Without meaning to, he mimics Hannibal’s smile. When Hannibal brings his other hand to Will’s trousers and lifts his brow, Will nods his permission. 

Hannibal helps him step out of his clothes. “Come back to bed with me, Will. Let me try again.”


	7. Will has a fever. Hannigram

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: sick fic, nonconsensual drugging, comfort
> 
> Yes, Hannibal drugs him, but I still think this is very soft.

Despite the fever, he is nevertheless suspicious of how sudden dinner’s one glass of wine hits him. He rubs the back of his palms over his eyes, then tries to blink away the fog.

“What did you do to me?” He doesn’t slur his words, but they feel thick and difficult on his tongue.

Hannibal sets down his own glass and repositions himself to more fully observe Will. 

“You are absolutely insufferable when you’re sick.”

Will’s hand slips then. They both watch as the glass hits the edge of the sofa and shatters on the carpet below. 

“That’s your fault.” Whether Will is referring to the broken glass or that he’s sick, or insufferable (or all three) is not specified.

“I can’t believe you drugged me.” His head rolls on his shoulders, heavier than his neck can support in this state. 

Hannibal makes a small tsking noise, but pulls Will from his edge of the sofa and drapes his top half over his lap. “Come now, can you really not believe it?”

“Not -” Will stops, swallows, sticks his tongue out and licks saliva over his dry lips. “Not after last time. I thought - I thought we had a deal.”

A gentle hand comes to stroke his fever-heated cheek, then wipes a stray hair that sticks to his skin. “We did. You allow me to take care of you next time, and we wouldn’t have to resort to such measures. You didn’t uphold your end of the deal.”

Will scoffs before making a feeble attempt to push himself up. With one hand, Hannibal easily presses him back down. Will scrunches up his eyes, frustrated but seemingly unable to do anything about it. A moment later, he relaxes more fully over Hannibal’s lap. The distraught look distorting his features softens and smooths until it’s clear that Will has admitted defeat. A warm feeling of satisfaction simmers in Hannibal’s belly. 

Getting him in the bath is straightforward after that. After two days of denial bleeding into whimpering complaints, Will is pliant and quiet now. Hannibal tests the temperature before lowering Will into the fragrant waters, then holds a space so that he might slip in behind him and encircle his body with his own. 

He’s gentle here, using a wet cloth to scrub the grime off his skin. He runs his hands over the relaxed muscles of his arms, his chest, his stomach. The heat from the bathroom makes their bodies steam; Hannibal presses his lips to his lolling neck, before nipping gently against his trapezius. It’s a shame, he thinks, that Will misses this. Hannibal would relish in the whimpers he might be able to pull from him, in different circumstances.

In time, Hannibal let’s the bath drain and they lay in the tub until the water bubbles its escape down his back and leaves Will shivering unconsciously despite the accumulated heat of his fever and the steamy room. Hannibal recognizes his reluctance to let go of him, kisses him once more behind the ear before he makes his move to get them dry. 

Upon the bed, Hannibal applies lotion across his body, warming it first in his hands so as not to draw goosebumps. He takes his time, much more than is strictly necessary, massaging the lotion into Will’s warm, smooth skin. When he’s done, he laces his fingers between Will’s own, bringing up the limp arm to rest against his cheek, to nuzzle softly, to kiss. 

It’s early evening yet, but Hannibal doesn’t mind. He draws up the merino wool blanket from the base of the bed and cocoons both of them in luxurious soft warmth. His arm loops over Will’s chest, trapping him under his care, making sure he’ll know as soon he awakes. 


	8. Bad dreams. Hannigram

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: physical violence, unconventional therapy. Rating: Mature 
> 
> Premise: Set loosely in S1, where Hannibal and Will are together but Will is still battling his demons. Hannibal provides unconventional therapy.
> 
> Note: This short story involves implied consensual physical abuse. Please curate your content appropriately.

Some days are better than others. It has to do with how suitably he’s mended his defenses against intruders. When things are calm, he can leave work at his desk, come home and let go. He can run with his dogs, and savor the flavor in his whiskey. On those days, he sleeps well and wakes rested, ready to rebuild his barriers for the day ahead. 

Other times are not so easy. Other times, the bodies laid before him whisper, their tongues like picks that leave his walls in crumbles. Sometimes he looks too closely; their glassy eyes take on depth and focus, their skin’s pallor takes on a rosy blush. On those nights he drinks to forget. On those nights, he takes them to bed. 

Until he begins to share his bed with someone new. Hannibal is observant; he notices the way his moods ebb and flow, his tolerance for a new day dependent on how well he’s let go of the faces from the one before. Will sees it as an inevitable consequence of what he does. Hannibal chooses instead to define his own consequences. 

Tonight, Will wakes up shaking, the sheets sweat-stuck to his skin. He tries to calm his breathing, but he feels the bed shift beside him and knows it’s too late. Hannibal lets out a small sigh. For his part, Will shudders.

"Please," he gasps. 

Hannibal slips out of bed soundlessly, and Will waits.

It’s sudden, the attack. He's hauled out of bed by his hair, the pain sharp enough that his hands go out not to balance himself but to try to lessen the pressure on his scalp. There's no fighting it though: Hannibal knows what's best.

He's pushed onto the cold tile of the bathroom. His elbow smacks hard against the side of the tub. He scrambles back against its cold, smooth finish, as far away from Hannibal as he can get. He wants this, he tells himself, but his body refuses to listen.

It won’t stop the blows, to hide and cower. He knows this too, and yet. Hannibal's first move is to backhand him across his face; it whips his head around so it connects with the edge of the tub. He lifts his hands to steady himself, and Hannibal goes for his stomach, knocking the wind out of him and making him double over. He's a smaller target now, but not small enough. Hannibal lands several more blows to his torso, narrowly avoiding his kidneys. The pain starts at several loci, but as Hannibal continues, it blossoms and connects until his whole body sings with the sensation.

As quick as it starts, it is over. Will doesn't dare unfurl himself until he hears the water running. Even then, it feels safer curled inward and he allows himself what little comfort he can get on the hard floor. 

He doesn't mean to flinch when Hannibal approaches next, but some things are unavoidable. He lets Hannibal tend to the split against his cheek, and allows himself to be unbent and prodded to rule out any permanent damage.

Soon they are back in bed and Hannibal's hand rubs small circles softly over skin that will be purple and sore come morning.

This is what does it, Will thinks, before he feels the first sob escape his chest: Hannibal's soft hands where moments before he had been so rough. The jarring sensation of being used and taken apart and then immediately made whole again. It hurts, _God it hurts_ , but in the best possible way.

"Thank you," he chokes in between the tears. 

Hannibal holds him carefully and kisses his temple and allows their bodies to shake together with the forcefulness of Will's release. He doesn’t know how long it lasts - he never remembers the hazy fog of _after_ once the night slips by, but he knows Hannibal stays with him through every wracking sob and hiccup. 

When he slips into sleep again, his dreams are empty. He’ll wake tomorrow sore, but grounded. Hannibal shatters him tonight so that he may rebuild himself tomorrow. 


	9. BDSM 1. Hannigram

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: BDSM, blood, alcohol

Once he makes his way into Baltimore, Will types out the text as he waits at a red light:

>> I’m almost home

The door’s unlocked when he tries it, the lights in the hallway dimmed, and music plays softly somewhere in the heart of their house. He slips his shoes off and hangs his coat himself; he doesn’t fault Hannibal for not greeting him at the door. Not tonight.

The counter is bare save a single sweating glass of whiskey on the rocks. He takes the time to appreciate Hannibal’s tastes, lets the flavor grow in his mouth before swallowing another sip. He takes the drink with him. 

He makes barely a whisper as he climbs the stairs, though he knows Hannibal will have heard the car arrive. His fingers trace the edging on the door frame, letting it creak on its hinges just a fraction. He considers leaving him to wait, finishing his drink before entering the bedroom. No, he thinks. He deserves a view with a vintage this fine. 

Will takes it in from the doorway, letting his head lean against the frame. Hannibal has executed the scene with every detail in mind. His arms spread across the bed, cuffed to the bedposts on either side. It forces his naked body to bend over the mattress, the spreader bar between his ankles keeping his stance wide. The mattress is too low for him to rest like this, his stomach muscles no doubt clenching at the curl his body is forced to make. Soon, his legs will start to tremble. Will adjusts himself in anticipation.

The toys he listed are laid out on the ottoman; Will admires Hannibal’s curated taste in his accessories. The glass bobbles gleam, while the black of the leather toys is treated so thoughtfully that it seems to absorb all light that dares strike its surface. His fingers play over each toy in turn before selecting a long, narrow glass dildo. He places his drink down only long enough to coat the smooth length with lube before wiping his hands clean on the towel and taking another sip.

Bent like this, he needn't part his cheeks before spearing him with the toy. He does it without preamble, his drink in his other hand, pushing the full length of the glass to watch it disappear. Hannibal clenches his thighs at the intrusion but otherwise stays still.

The slide of the toy is gorgeous, it moves as if without friction as Will works it curiously in and out of Hannibal's hole. At the base, a dip and bulb to hold, that rests against his opening and distorts the light trapped in the glass into obscene pink tones.

Will leaves the toy pressed in, takes another slow sip and then leans over to let the amber liquid dribble over the divots of his back and over his ass. Hannibal shifts in his spreader, no doubt thinking of the rug more than his debasement. That will not do.

From the ottoman, he takes the tawse whip. It folds easily against Hannibal's thigh, then tickles the skin as Will traces a path up his leg and over his ass. Will smiles as he sees the gooseflesh prickle, does it again on the other side.

"Let me hear you." He says, then begins to whip at the hairless skin of his ass and thighs.

Hannibal doesn't make a sound at first, not that Will expects it. But as he continues to pelt the skin, it's colour turning from a light rose to angry strips of red, his heavy breathing gives way to growing groans. His shoulders flex and tense under the discomfort, and he presses up onto his toes. The burn must be sensational, and yet with each quick slap of the leather to his skin, Will wonders at the way Hannibal seems to lean back, as though the absence of the tawse is a greater discomfort.

"Colour?" He asks once the skin breaks and the first ooze of red runs past the curve of his ass.

Hannibal's haggard breathing fills the room before he answers, his voice clear as glass, "Green."

Pride swells in Will's chest at the single syllable, and drops the tawse to rest his leather-warmed hand against the welts. The heat from his hand no doubt stings on the abused flesh, but Hannibal only breathes, More.

Will swirls the single cube in his glass, considering. He removes his hand and carefully begins to pour the last of his double over the wounds. Hannibal hisses before him, and clenches around the toy. Dropping to his knees, Will grips his hips and presses his mouth to where the liquid has pooled momentarily over a welt. That pulls from Hannibal a long moan as he dances his weight from foot to foot. 

Will smiles over the heated flesh, pulls out the toy unceremoniously and brings his focus to the shining relaxed muscle. He moans into the skin before spearing Hannibal open again. Beneath him, Hannibal begins to tremble. He ignores it and loses himself in Hannibal.

"Yellow," Hannibal whispers eventually. Will immediately pulls back and softens his nails against the burning skin.

"Tell me what you need, love." 

Hannibal takes his time to answer, his sweaty hair hanging limply past his face. His chest expands and contracts with great effort.

"You. Only you."

Will nods and moves swiftly, first to the ottoman to collect the keys, then to unlock Hannibal's wrists and ankles. He does so slowly, rolling his shoulders and closing his eyes at the pleasure of being let go.

Will crowds him, taking his face in his hands and kissing him in gratitude and awe. Will lets go only to begin to undo his belt. 

"Let me take care of you."

Hannibal nods, his body shaking with the come down. Together, they fall back into the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted snippet @trikemily on twitter on 29/01/2021


	10. Cuckolding. Kaisergram with Nigel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scenario: Kaisergram (Duncan from Polar, Will from Hannibal) meet Nigel (Charlie Countryman) in a bar. 
> 
> Tags: cuckolding, dirty talk

The two sit in chairs pushed to the far back of the small bar, where they can take in the rest of the room in a sweeping glance. Will runs his fingers through Duncan’s salty hair before resting his hand gently around the back of his neck. Duncan’s eyes close briefly, enjoying the intimacy of Will’s touch, before he pulls out another cigarette and places it to his lips.

The bell above the front door jingles as the stranger enters. Immediately, Duncan perks up. The muscles flex in his back as he straightens, alerting Will. He looks from the man walking now towards the bar and back to Duncan, a brow lifting.

“Him?” he asks, taking a slow sip of his whiskey. 

Duncan’s eyes drop only a moment to light his cigarette before he locks on the other man once again. He’s lean, almost lithe, an underestimated power flexing in the simple movements he makes as he collects his drink and finds an empty table over by the wall. The man flicks stray snowflakes from his sandy hair and then begins working the zipper on his coat. Duncan pulls long and hard on his smoke when he sees the inky lady dance over the strong chords in his neck.

Will surveys Duncan’s choice briefly, but it doesn’t much matter to him who it is, as long as he grabs his partner’s attention. His hand squeezes lightly at the back of Duncan’s neck before traveling down and resting high upon his thigh.

“So him, huh? What is it about him, I wonder? He looks strong. Is that it? Do you wanna watch me wrap my legs around his body, have him fuck me up against the wall?” 

Duncan swallows, a smile playing under his mustache. 

Will rubs his thigh. “Or maybe it’s his looks that have you going? You know, he looks a bit like you, maybe when you were younger. The tattoo’s hot. You think he’d let me spray my load over his face and neck while you watch me, desperate to taste what I’m wasting?”

He looks away from the man and towards Duncan, noticing how flushed his face has become. He doesn’t answer though, so Will presses on. 

“I bet he’s got stamina. How many times do you think he could make me come before filling me up? Three? Four?” Will huffs a laugh before adding, “More than you, old man, I’m sure of that.” 

Duncan’s hand finds Will’s arm and grips it lightly. Will thinks he’s getting closer. 

“Maybe he’d make me suck his cock in between sessions? I bet he’s hung. I bet his cock would fill my throat better than yours can. I bet he makes me choke, holds my head down and makes me absolutely gag on it. You know how much I love to have someone thick and long fuck my throat.”

Duncan nods then, and Will beams, proud of himself for figuring it out. “That’s it then? You wanna see me get railed by someone that knows what he’s doing, don’t you? Want to hear me begging for his cock instead of yours?”

Will shifts his hand and lets out a soft chuckle at how hard Duncan is. He drains the last of his whiskey before leaning over to place a wet kiss on Duncan’s cheek. He straightens the creases from his slacks as he stands. 

Will circles the table and takes a step in the man’s direction before pausing and looking back. “Meet me back at the cabin?” 

Duncan catches the attention of the bartender and signals for another round. His voice is thick and affected when he answers, “I think I’ll stay and watch.”

Will smiles fondly back at him. “Whatever you want, Duncan. Whatever you want.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> snippet posted @trikemily on 31/01/2021


	11. D/s control. Kaisergram set in Hannibal tl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: D/s, implied infidelity 
> 
> With Hannibal in prison, Will starts dating Molly. It brings up emotions he needs Duncan's help to work through.

It's when he first starts dating Molly that his resolve begins to slip. She sees him, at least what he allows her to look at. That he has to cover himself partly in shadows serves as a daily reminder of what he doesn’t have. Besides that, Molly’s affections are light, uncomplicated. Life-affirming. It isn’t always what he needs.

Duncan gives him something different. He is pliable, able to mold himself into the controlling force when Will feels himself careening. 

When he enters Duncan’s cabin, the rules change. He’s stripped of his agency, unsaddled of the guilt and concurrent curiosity that has once again been piqued. He strips at the door, not because Duncan finds him appealing, but because it allows him to avoid contaminating the safe space with any part of who he is. 

It gets easier then, when Duncan’s hands drag over his skin. His touch is purposeful; he doesn’t waste time exploring the scars that litter Will’s body, doesn’t work to make the flesh prickle. Sometimes, when Will doesn’t settle fast enough, he hits him but even that is a means to an end. Get him under, get him grounded. 

What Will needs is to not be wanted. Duncan contorts his body, uses him like an object to satisfy a need, but never does Will think he craves him. His demands are often utilitarian but strict, and it drives Will into a headspace where he can forget about the other people wanting for his attention. His punishments, when he has to resort to them, may leave him limping and bruised, but they don’t demand any more of him than his flesh. Duncan isn’t interested in mind games, isn’t interested in love, and that suits Will just fine. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> snippet posted @trikemily 03/02/2021


	12. Instant connections. Lee Fallon and Duncan Vizla

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: frottage, anal sex, overstimulation.

The connection between them is immediate. Lee extricates himself from Cathy and her husband with a paper-thin excuse that they both see through but don’t press him on. Cathy follows Lee’s gaze and smiles knowingly to herself when it lands upon a mustached, grisly looking older man. Exactly Lee’s type. 

Lee doesn’t try to make a lot of small talk, which suits Duncan fine. Less than ten minutes later, Duncan is leading them out of the bar, Lee mouthing a half-hearted apology to Cathy for bailing while motioning to the man’s ass as reason enough for his bad behaviour. 

Duncan crowds into Lee before he gets the key in the door. His mustache tickles on his neck and behind his ear where Duncan sucks red prickling heat marks onto his skin. Lee’s hand comes behind to grab at him, pulling him in so they bracket together more fully. He leans back into Duncan, grinning at his good luck. 

Inside, they’re naked before they make it to the mattress - Duncan throws Lee down onto the mess of soft sheets before leaning in and prowling up to find his mouth. Lee’s hands travel over his body, at first stuttering whenever they come across the tight pull of a scar but soon his hesitancy is lost as they melt into one another. 

Lee’s fingers settle in the tangle of greying chest hair, his appreciation for the man’s physique evident and pressed down between their bodies. Duncan ruts himself against him. The friction against their cocks causes them both to suck in a sharp inhale. 

Lee grabs blindly towards the edge of the bed, knocking over an empty wine bottle, which makes a loud thump and rolls away from the bed. With great hesitancy, he peels himself away from Duncan’s mouth to bring his eyes to where he is groping and quickly finds the half-used bottle of lube. He digs a bit under the mattress for a moment before pulling out a strip of condoms, a victorious smile lighting up his face. 

Duncan takes both items, pulling away from Lee only long enough to tear open the wrapper and roll the condom on. It’s the first time Lee gets a good look at him, and he moans appreciatively at what he sees. His noise turns into a surprised gasp when Duncan grasps his thighs and pulls him forward so that their cocks once again but against each other. Duncan drizzles lube down on both their cocks then takes them both in hand. 

He props himself on his elbows to watch the way Duncan works them together, his own average sized cock overshadowed by Duncan’s. Lee nods feverishly when he tightens his grip and twists slightly on each drag up. His thigh muscles tighten and quiver with pleasure; he lets them fall open wider: an open invitation.

When the warmth has spread past his groin and into his belly, Duncan gives a final pump before letting go and shuffling back. Lee is about to lean back, tilt his hips up and ask, pretty please, for his cock when suddenly he’s being flipped like a pancake onto his stomach. That this man can throw him like a rag doll sends a pleasurable shiver down his spine; he thinks he lets out an obscene noise but his mind is getting foggy and it’s hard to pay attention to anything but Duncan’s touch. 

“Do you want my fingers?” Duncan asks, and Lee has to wonder if that’s the longest sentence he’s said all night. 

He shakes his head, scrambling to get on his hands and knees before correcting him. “No, fuck, just give me your cock.”

This seems to please the older man, who gropes at the globes of Lee’s ass and smacks them hard in appreciation. Duncan moves with purpose then, lining up and pressing the head of his cock against the tightness of Lee’s body. 

The stretch focuses him; he feels the fog of his mind lift a little as Duncan presses in. He goes slowly at first, his hips rocking gently against the resistance he finds there. Duncan pauses for only a moment to drip more lube over his fingers before he’s wrapping his hand over the base of his cock, helping him slide further into the tight heat. 

Lee wants to tell him not to worry, to push in and fuck him already, but what comes out is a mewling sort of whine that brightens his already flushed cheeks. God, he’s so lost in this man already.

Duncan can’t tear his eyes away from where he’s buried inside Lee. His fingers press along the taut entrance, as though he can’t believe how perfectly they fit together. His hips rock back and forth before Lee finally lets out a groan that sounds like ‘Move!’ and then he cannot help himself: he’s pistoning into Lee with sharp, bruising thrusts. 

Lee loses himself completely, reaching back to make Duncan fold himself over and cover his body with his powerful frame. He can barely hold them both up, the top of his torso collapsing onto the bed. He can’t help himself: his hand snakes under both of them and he starts stroking himself without restraint.

His orgasm catches him by surprise, the sudden force of it making him shout out under Duncan as he coats his hand and the bed in cum. Duncan groans into Lee’s ear as he convulses around his cock, but otherwise takes no notice of his completion, his pace no less forceful than when it started.

Under Duncan’s firm hold, he can barely writhe, can barely adjust positions, simply has to take it as he’s brutally fucked. His legs are shaking uncontrollably; Duncan’s one arm comes round just above his spent cock to pull and hold him up. 

It’s several minutes later when Duncan shifts his hand and wraps it around Lee’s half-hard cock, stroking it efficiently and with little care for the way it makes Lee cry out. 

“This okay?” Duncan asks, his hand pumping quickly over Lee’s growing erection. Lee can barely get his assent out fast enough: it comes out as a series of ‘yes’s that slither and slide into one another. 

“You’ve got another one in you, boy,” Duncan growls into Lee’s ear, picking up his pace. Lee shakes his head fervently, both doesn’t dare try to make him stop. Lee feels a sour sort of pleasure building in his gut and before he can process it, he’s coming again with a pained and delighted whimper.

“Perfect,” Duncan groans before he too is stuttering and grunting his release into the condom. Lee moans at the hot pulsing sensation deep inside him before he collapses onto the bed in earnest, uncaring of the mess. 

It’s several minutes of ragged, laboured breathing before either of them try to speak. Duncan rolls off of Lee, pressing a kiss to his shoulder and Lee imagines it’s his way of praising his performance. The thought delights him, and he beams into the sheets.

“That was…” Lee laughs, not having come down from the high.

Duncan lets out a gruff noise of agreement, then grabs for Lee’s arm to wrap around his chest. The intimacy of the movement is unexpected but not unwelcome - his fingers work their way through the forest of chest hair, soothing both of them.

“Stay the night?” Lee asks hopefully. 

Duncan’s lips curve into a small smile below his mustache. “You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Snippet posted 04/02/2021 @trikemily


	13. Soft D/s. PolarSpace (Adam/Duncan)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: rutting, soft D/s

It’s a lazy day. Adam curls himself over Duncan’s body as they absently browse for something to watch. Duncan’s hands are in his hair, his fingers absently massaging over his head and looping through his curls. Adam sighs into the attention, pressing his lips to the smattering of scars on Duncan’s chest. 

Duncan’s hand slips to the nape of Adam’s neck, dips into his loose t-shirt and runs his nails softly over the muscles on Adam’s back. Adam hums at the soft tingling that spreads throughout his body. 

Duncan’s hand flattens on his back and pushes gently on his small frame, drawing him in. “Come closer, baby.”

Adam’s leg hooks over Duncan’s frame so that his cock presses up against Duncan’s thigh under the blanket. As they lay there together, Duncan caressing his back. Adam begins to swell. 

Duncan looks down with a lazy smile at his boy. “Already, baby?”

Adam doesn’t answer, instead burying his face into the crook between his arm and his chest. Hairs tickle at his face and he emerges but avoids looking directly up. 

Duncan’s hand comes back up to Adam’s curls, brushing them away from his face so he can’t hide his embarrassment. A warmth spreads in his chest. 

“What do you need, Adam?” 

Adam ruts his hips forward, pressing his half-hard cock a little harder into the muscles of his thigh. His hand is wrapped around Duncan’s middle; he feels the way his fingers dig into the skin a little for purchase. Beyond that, Adam doesn’t answer. 

Duncan’s hand comes out to still Adam’s hips, pushing him off just enough so that he can only feel the head of Adam’s cock rub against the hairs on his leg. “Not good enough, darling. Tell me what you need?”

He watches the way Adam bites his lips, and he looks up, a small hunger growing behind his heavy lids. “Can I? Will you, I mean?”

“You want me to fuck your hole again, baby?” Duncan asks more directly, his heart warming at the way it makes Adam blush. Nevertheless, Adam nods, his hips pushing against Duncan’s hands to try to get some friction against his cock. It’s no use: Duncan holds him back without any effort.

He leans down and places a soft kiss onto Adam’s forehead. “But you feel so good against me, baby. Don’t wanna move.” Adam lets out a quiet, disappointed whine.

“Tell you what,” Duncan pauses, letting go of Adam’s hip and shifting to get a better angle upon which Adam can grind. “I’ll let you use my leg. Go ahead and rut against me, baby. Can you get yourself off for me like that?”

The thought embarrasses Adam further, making him feel like a needy animal, unable to control his urges. Still, his cock reacts to the idea: Duncan no doubt can feel the way he twitches against him at the suggestion. Without saying a word, he nods, then gives a curious slow thrust of his hips against Duncan’s leg. 

“That’s it baby,” Duncan whispers encouragingly. “Feels good, doesn’t it? Just like that. Think about how I took you earlier. Think about how good it felt when you sat on my cock.”

Adam lets out a small whimper, crushes his face against Duncan’s chest again as if he can’t bear to let him see him so desperate. Still, his speed picks up as Duncan continues to murmur obscene things to him, describing in detail what they’d done just hours before. 

“Loved the way you opened up for me, Adam. How easy it was to slip my fingers inside you after.” He coos, running his hand along his back and pushing his thigh out for Adam to better rut against. They’re quiet for a time, except for the whimpering exhales Adam makes as he works himself against Duncan’s leg.

“I can feel you getting close. Love the way you tremble.” Adam moans loudly at that, his cock rubbing through the slick he’s leaked onto Duncan’s thigh, making a mess of them both. He wants to take himself in hand, he’s so close. That isn’t what he’s been offered though, and so he digs his nails in a bit rougher into Duncan’s side and lets out a long whine.

“God, you look so good like that, darling. So needy. I’m going to have some fun with you later, babe. Gonna suck you long and slow till you have this same desperate look on your face.”

That does it. His hips stutter and he bites his lip as he comes in heavy spurts that he rubs between his stomach and Duncan’s thigh. Duncan’s praise washes over him like a warm blanket and, mindless of the mess, he collapses himself further into him.

“So good for me, Adam.” Duncan whispers, peppering the top of Adam’s head in light kisses. They’ll get up in a moment, but for now they both lay then, heavy in their content. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> snippet posted 05/02/2021


	14. Soon. Hannigram

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: None.

“I’ve met someone,” Will whispers his confession into the stillness of the night. 

The silence fills the spaces where his voice has once been, rolling in thick like fog.

Eventually, Hannibal responds, “Tell me about them.”

Will blinks into the blackness, struggling to make sense of the shadows in the darkness. It’s too oppressively dark though, he can’t make out even the outline of the man beside him. He rolls away from the warmth that Hannibal gives off, stares into the nothingness above.

“They’re quiet. Measured with their words. There’s some grief there, something that pulls them away from interacting with the world around them as unselfconsciously as others do.”

“You’re reminding me of someone.”

Will shakes his head to dismiss the similarity, though Hannibal only hears the shifting sound on the pillow. He continues. “They’re an academic, though I would never say that to their face. But the way they look at something beautiful: like they’re seeing its past, its history that brought it here for them to witness. It's intoxicating.”

Hannibal hums. “Do they look at you that way?”

An admission: “Yes.”

“Do they touch you with such reverence?”

Will’s mouth feels suddenly dry. Still, he is honest. “Yes.”

There’s a sound of Hannibal’s body shifting in the sheets. His hand comes to rest against Will’s sternum, his fingers playing light against his ribs. The melody is sentimental. 

“Tell me how they make you feel.”

He doesn’t know how to put it into words, or whether he wants to try. But then again, any walls between them have long come tumbling down. It would come out, eventually.

“Like daybreak. I feel light. When we…" he trails off, reminiscing. "I can’t remember who I was, before.”

Hannibal’s fingers still on his breast for a beat, then his hand slides up until he’s casually wrapped it around his throat. There’s no added pressure beyond the weight of his hand; it brings with it a comfort Will didn’t entirely expect. 

“Is it something you crave? Forgetting? A fresh start?”

“I don’t know,” he answers, his brow furrowed as he considers his own words.

Hannibal leans in, placing his lips against the jut of his shoulder. He speaks his words into the flesh. “Will you bring him to dinner soon?”

Will sigh is heavy; it carries with it the weight of his secrets. His head tilts so that it rests atop Hannibal’s. Hannibal's fingers press against the edges of his jugular, and he caresses the lines of muscle in a way that makes Will shiver. Like a collar around his neck, he feels controlled. Hannibal bares his teeth against Will’s shoulder, nipping at the bare flesh. Protected. 

“Soon.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> twitter drabble posted 12/02/2021 @trikemily


	15. Necro devotion. Hannigram

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: I'm re-organizing and have posted this here as well: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29587173/chapters/72722019  
> This chapter may be removed shortly. 
> 
> Tags: Necrophilia

“Ready?”

His attention is divided, split like a headache. He wants to be good, but his mind is already crawling away from where he’s supposed to focus. He pulls himself back long enough to nod, his eyes still straying to the body on the bed.

Hannibal comes over to wrap himself around him, his arms like a cage bracketing him from action. It’s an intentional cruelty, meant to further separate his body from his mind. It works: he feels himself fracture and begin to float towards where he wants to be. 

“Is this how you convince yourself you’re alive?”

He shuts his eyes as the whispered words hit him with the force of a blow. He doesn’t need to reply. They both know the answer. 

Hannibal lets one arm drop, and then the other. “Go on then, show me.”

It’s with a great effort that he pivots and leans into Hannibal’s warm chest instead. Their foreheads press together; he feels the heat of their breath against his lips, on his cheeks. Compare and contrast.

“Beautiful boy,” Hannibal murmurs, then spins him slowly towards where he needs to be.

His approach is cautious, as though the scene before him will ripple and fade as he comes closer. Or perhaps that isn’t it - what he doesn’t trust is himself. He feels too much, his mind too frenzied for the patient thing before him. His steps stutter as he forces himself to breathe. 

“This one is yours,” Hannibal reminds him, watching the uncertainty in the way that he waits. “This one is for you.” He takes the last few steps towards the bed. 

He doesn’t need to understand why he craves this; he only knows that when the bed sags under his weight and he slides in beside the corpse, there’s a buzzing in his mind that just - stops.

His touch is light even when he doesn’t need to be. His fingers play against the skin, he avoids the sutures and rests his hand upon its breast. Nothing. He shifts and replaces his hand with his head, listening to the silence beneath him. His lips brush over the greying skin. Again. Again.

“I love you,” he whispers. To no one. To nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Snippet posted @trikemily on 15/02/2021


	16. Scars. Hannigram

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: handjob

He reaches over Will, his arm encircling his chest as they lay half overtop the other on the couch. Will’s fingers come to trace the thick white scar that starts just below the palm of his hand and travels a third of the way up his forearm. He won’t let it show, but there’s a discomfort from having Will touch him there. He’s been witness to the delicateness of others’ lives, but feeling someone touch his scars reminds him of his own humanity. It feels ill-suited. He twists his arm away as though he only means to run his fingers along the smooth expanse of Will’s chest, rather than to escape that foreign feeling of mortality.

The parallel isn’t lost on him, when his fingers return, again and again, to the jagged curve of pearlescent white above Will’s navel. The nerves there are confused, they shoot warning signals into Will’s brain, tell him that what he wants most will hurt him. Those messages twist though, tangling in the memories formed from the coordinated synaptic firing caused by Hannibal’s more recent worshiping of his scars. It leaves him squirming, needing Hannibal not to touch him there, but wanting nothing more than for him to use his fingers, his tongue, his cock, to tell him - in his own way - that he’s sorry.

Will doesn’t make any attempt to hide his arousal, no matter how ashamed he is of it. His hand wraps around Hannibal’s wrist, guiding it down to the waistband of his pajamas. Hannibal slips his hand under the fabric, wrapping his fist around him. Instead of letting go, Will’s hand stays gently encircling Hannibal’s wrist. His finger strokes almost absently along the delicate pucker of his scar. It’s casual. Anywhere else on his body, it would be adoring. Here though, here he knows it’s purposeful.

With his free hand, Will shimmies his pants down past his hips, so they can both watch the way Hannibal’s hand slides in its practiced rhythm over his erect cock. He reaches up then, pulling Hannibal’s other hand to his mouth. He presses his lips over the soft skin, pulling at Hannibal gently until he lets Will turn his palm over. He expects it - can even anticipate the pressure against his skin - but when Will lays a kiss along the scar, his breath still comes out in a quiet gasp. 

Will’s delicate kisses grow increasingly needy, the same way Hannibal speeds his hand upon his cock. They’re breathing in tandem, as Hannibal tries not to slither out from under Will’s touch, tries not to grip him too hard in retaliation. He gives him what he deserves, and takes what he has coming.

It’s when Will approaches orgasm that Hannibal finds it hardest to tolerate. He’s sucking hard against the scarred skin, bruising the flesh around the wound, overdosing his nerve endings with stimulation. He sucks his bottom lip between his teeth as Will digs his nails into the wrist pumping over his cock. When Will comes, he bites at the tissue between his lips, not hard enough to bleed, but Hannibal still sympathetically tastes copper over his tongue. He lets out an exhale that sounds more like a pained moan, and feels Will’s smile against his skin.   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posted 04/03/2021 at @trikemily


	17. D/s 2. Hannigram

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: D/s, weekend protocol, enema (nondescript), anal sex, desperation play (piss), anal fingering, cock cages, anal plug

It begins, like most things do, happening just once, followed by weeks of wondering when it might happen again. Hannibal is the first to refer back to the day, under suspicion that this might be what grounds his partner once work starts making him unravel.

So there’s a discussion, and rules, and consent, and then every weekend gets sucked in by protocol that lets Will let go of the bodies he’s been carrying, and allows Hannibal to dial up or down his care without Will’s natural resistance.

It begins when Hannibal says it begins, usually on the Saturday morning, but sometimes sooner. They don’t sleep past 7 - the dogs won’t let them anyway - but it’s better if he stays in something of a routine from the week. He knows when it starts because Hannibal wakes him by drawing him up, then wraps the thin metal collar around his neck, which lifts and bobs when he swallows. After months of this, it’s enough: Will’s body tenses to attention and he untangles himself from the covers and stands to wait beside the bed. 

Hannibal doesn’t make him crawl because he doesn’t need Will beneath him for him to know that he is His. Hannibal runs his blunt nails along Will’s bare back as they walk the short distance into the bathroom. Like every Saturday now, Will steps into the shower, then folds down until his face rests against the cold tile, his knees tucked into his chest, and his ass presented in the air. He reaches back and spreads himself. He waits. 

Hannibal brings down the hose, lubes the tip, pushes it in. He waits with Will, rubbing circles along the small of his back, and watches him closely until he knows that he’s full. He leaves Will alone as he puts away the supplies, waits until he starts to hear the gurgling in his gut, then leaves until he’s called back again. When he returns, Will will be in the shower once more, standing with his arms slightly away from his body, ready to be sprayed down. 

When he’s clean, then he’s nearly ready. Hannibal dries him, the lux of their towels catching the rivulets of water that race down his spine, his chest, his thighs. Will gives him a grateful smile before Hannibal kneels before him and pays special attention to drying his cage. 

They always return to the bedroom next, and Will quietly hopes that this time will be one of those low-restraint mornings where Hannibal loses himself in prepping his hole and decides to use him before breakfast. This morning however, he has to wait, but is allowed to choose the toy that Hannibal fits inside him to remind him what his use is for the next two days. It’s been a long week; he needs something that will stay obtrusive. He selects a large plug, whose rubber base still digs into his cheeks when he walks. It takes a little while for it to fit. This seems to please Hannibal, and so in turn it pleases Will. 

He doesn’t eat before Sunday evening, which Hannibal admits is one of the few things he wishes he could change about their arrangement. But Will needs to feel empty, needs to feel in service and willing to comply with Hannibal’s whims. He accepts his coffee with a quiet ‘ _Thank you, Sir_ ’ and plays sous chef to whatever Hannibal makes for himself. 

The days get looser in their routine after that, though Hannibal knows Will prefers generating some expectation of what’s to come, and so he’ll usually tell him what he’s thinking as Will cleans his plate and wipes down the counters. If he misses a spot, Hannibal might fold him over his lap in the dining room and fuck him harshly with the plug as he counts the seconds to 100, or push him onto the tile in the kitchen and slap him until both cheeks burn and the rosy tinge doesn’t go away. He’s been doing this for so long now though, he’s good at cleaning up.

Sometimes then, they return to the bedroom, sometimes to the study. Today it’s to the garden, where the sun is bright and the air warm and the grass still dewy wet. Hannibal gathers his pencils and poses Will in the grass and Will holds the position like a statue for the ninety minutes it takes for Hannibal to render his likeness.

He lets him sprawl out on the soft, thick grass then, straddles him from behind and massages the ache out of his muscles. Will whimpers quietly as he works a knot below his shoulder blade, then gasps when he feels Hannibal’s fingers grasp hold of the plug and rip it out. Hannibal shifts out of his pajama pants and fucks him in the garden, pulling his ass into the air and holding his face into the dirt. The dogs don’t bother them anymore, except to occasionally come up to Will and lick at his face in concern when he makes those tiny breathless noises.

Hannibal always plugs him up again after, to hold his load, to measure his use at the end of the day by how much of a mess he makes on the bathroom floor when he at last can remove the toy before they sleep. 

"You're a filthy useless thing," Hannibal says with adoration, twisting the plug so it snags at his hole before leading him into the study.

He composes then, with Will underneath the harpsichord, his head resting heavily on his thigh. Sometimes between edits, he pets Will's head, sometimes he smothers his face over his cock until a delicious red blush spreads from his neck down his back. Will trusts him though, after this long, and doesn't fight it. Accepts that only He gets to decide when he needs his next breath, and falls into it, willingly. 

He has to ask to leave Hannibal’s side, to get some water, to use the restroom. On occasion, Hannibal denies him, takes his pleasure by watching Will squirm and whimper as the pressure in his bladder grows. He’ll take him outside when he’s close, wrap himself behind him and rub low on his belly until Will cries, until he begs, until he bursts and pisses hot liquid over his cage and balls and legs and cries out in relief. He’ll get the hose then, and then a warm towel, and a showering of praise for how absolutely disgusting he is.

Today, Hannibal needs to run some errands, and so he walks Will towards the basement and lets him go down the stairs first, lets him bend down beside the cage, wrists on display and waiting for locks. 

Hannibal appreciates the obedience, appreciates the silence, and shows his pleasure once Will is tucked in tight in the cage. His ass presses against the bars, and Hannibal pulls out the plug so he can finger him until he's whining, squirming, fucking himself back against the bars. He comes with surprised 'oh', the liquid pooling between his thighs. It'll be tacky by the time he's back. It'll itch as it dries. Hannibal fingers him past comfort, wipes his cum and lube-stained fingers on his ass, then replaces the plug, walks up the stairs and turns off the light.

He floats then, locked down in his small cage. He thinks about how good he's been, if Sir has let him come. He likes pleasing Him, he thinks, and settles down and dozes until His return.

Later, he helps with dinner, then sips his broth while watching Hannibal eat ( _Holes like you don’t deserve anything but my come_ ). He cleans up and tends to the dogs, the cool evening air in the backyard prickling his naked skin into goosebumps. 

They go upstairs. They won’t leave the bedroom again. Not until morning. Not until Hannibal wakes him again and walks him into the bathroom to empty him out and hose him down - aiming the stream away from the fresh marks across his back - and start the day over again. 

**Author's Note:**

> Posted on @trikemily, this is a compilation of Hannigram & HEU twitter drabbles/flash fics <1000 words.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[PODFIC] Short Hannigram Snippets](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29045655) by [metencephalon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/metencephalon/pseuds/metencephalon)




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